What Happens Before You Die
by WriterK83
Summary: After Ziva is rescued from Somalia, what is her first night really like in DC? A short story, with likely another chapter or two, told from Ziva and Tony's point of view.
1. Part 1

Hi my lovely readers! I got the urge to write something – anything – the other day, and I just started putting words on paper until I hit the second page or so, when this little thing started to form. It will probably have another one or two more chapters.

It's set the day they return from Somalia, and is told from the point of view of Tony (non italic) and Ziva (italic).

Review and get a 24 hour advance on the next chapter!

…

**What Happens Before You Die **

…**.**

It is one of the few times in my life I am speechless.

I think for her, it is the same.

We have not bothered to shower, change. She still wears the thick hospital bracelet that swallows her pale, now skeletal wrist.

We have sat like this for maybe 10 minutes, ever since we walked through the apartment door. I dropped my gear – a canteen with stale water and a few MRE's intact, and followed her to the kitchen table.

She has a strange look on her face, where her lips are pursed yet frowning, and I can't tell if she's going to cry or be sick or break my arm if I try to touch her.

I think that maybe I should call Gibbs.

You know that feeling you get where something that happened just hours ago feels like days? That's what it feels like now. Flying from Somalia to DC, waiting with her in the hospital, going into NCIS.

It all feels….surreal.

I guess such an experience, one of such intense stress, emotion, not knowing whether you will live or die. I guess it changes a person.

I wonder, now, how it has changed her.

…_._

_Have you ever found yourself somewhere that you should not be? I am not speaking of the men's restroom or your partner's bed. _

_But what I am trying to say, is, have you ever found yourself alive when you should be dead? _

_Let me rephrase that. Because I, for one, should have died ten times over throughout the years. _

_Have you ever prepared yourself to die? Mentally say goodbye to everyone that you love, dole out forgiveness that will never be said?_

_That last embrace with your father, or at least the man who is the closest thing you have, was it strong enough to get you through the next forever?_

_Did you hug her enough? Will that next tattoo – the one you and she carefully drew out, discussing, debating, location and size. Will it now be a silent reminder of you, after death? _

_That last sip of English tea, laid out in the morgue as tenderly as his ear for your problems, his hands for your wounds. Will it be enough to quench your thirst for eternity? _

_Your brother – not the one by blood but the one who never betrayed you – did you teach him, love him, enough? Did you ever remember to thank him for showing you the meaning of family? _

_And have you prepared yourself to never feel his lips on yours again? To never know what it is like to wake in his arms; for once, to have him completely? _

_Will you forget his face, that scar on his shoulder from an old bullet wound?_

_Will you forget what you had, what could have been?_

_Will he? _

_These are all questions that you ask yourself before you die. _

_And regardless of the answer – because it is usually not one you would like – you accept. _

_You make peace with the regrets. _

_And then you are ready. You find solace in knowing that you will see old friends again – Jenny – and meet new ones. Kate. _

_You are focused by knowing that you might finally get some answers. Ari. _

_You take comfort in knowing that you will watch over those left behind. Misguide bullets, if you can. _

_You find relief, resolve, in knowing that it will soon be over. _

_So what happens when all of a sudden you find yourself alive, still breathing, blood flowing? Yet there is nothing inside you save for death in your heart, soul. _

_Where do you go from there? _

….

I come to the conclusion that I should probably make the first move. It being my apartment and all.

She just returning after three months of….

"Ziva," I say lightly, watching as her eyes flick toward me.

"Do you want to take the first shower?"

She shrugs. "Go ahead."

I suddenly realize that I am afraid to leave her alone. Maybe I should call Abby or….

But I only say, "Ok," and it is the fastest shower of my life. I return in three minutes, but not before I remove the razors and tweezers and…I think that should do it. I don't think she could kill with a toothbrush, right?

On second thought, I remove that for good measure.

It isn't that I don't trust Ziva. It's not that I think she would ever hurt herself.

But this version of Ziva, sitting in my apartment? I don't know her yet. I'm not entirely sure what she's capable of.

Honestly? I can't face the prospect of even coming close to losing her again.

….

_It doesn't take long to forget how pleasurable such simple things can be. How safe, comforting hot water can be as it trickles down your face, your back. The way silky hair runs through your fingers as conditioner drains out. _

_This is what I concentrate on, as I scrub and scrub and scrub away as much of Somalia as I can. _

_It helps, to have something to focus on. Because if I let my mind wander, I can not stop thinking about Saleem. About everything that happened in that small cell, dirty in more ways than one. _

_I cannot stop thinking about why I am not dead. _

_I cannot stop thinking that three people love me enough to risk their lives for my revenge. _

_I can hear him, outside of the bathroom door. He walks by every few minutes, footsteps stop. I imagine him cocking one ear against the door. _

_God only knows what that imagination of his is spinning. _

_God only knows that most of those things…they are probably true. _

_It is only when I turn off the shower and dress in the fleece pants and t-shirt that Tony left for me. It is only then that my thoughts betray me. _

_I have not seen my reflection in three months. I almost do not recognize this person before me. _

_She looks sick. Emaciated. _

_Dark, ugly bruises line her arms. I lean in closer to the bathroom mirror and inspect her yellowed face, marked with tiny nicks._

_I am immediately thousands of miles around the globe. _

_The world I came from and the world I am in now are too starkly different, and I simply cannot comprehend how to function in one without the other. _

_I step back. As if being further from that girl in the mirror will somehow take away what has happened._

_But it does not. _

_And I cry out. _

_Turn away so quickly from the mirror that I stumble, catch myself on the wall. Breathing in Tony's scent on the old t-shirt. _

_Focusing on being here – now – forgetting Saleem, Somalia, tomorrow. _

_Concentrating on just this one minute so that I can make it to the next. _

…

I hear a single cry escape her but she won't let me in.

She says that she'll be out in just a minute.

I am starting to panic and sweat and think that maybe I should call Gibbs.

But I take a deep breath and tell myself that I can handle this.

I can protect her.

Just because it is me and her alone, does not mean anything will happen to her.

Besides, Gibbs is coming over any minute now with food.

And then she emerges from the bathroom, followed by a wave of steam. She is damp and dripping and gives me a soft smile and just stands there looking at me.

And I stop thinking and worrying that one wrong action on my part might break her.

I take two steps closer and cup her face in my hands. She looks up, deep into my eyes, and I see something that surprises me.

From the moment I saw her in Somalia, to the plane ride to the hospital to the chorus of applause at NCIS, something so uncharacteristically Ziva lined her eyes.

Fear.

As if she didn't know me, Gibbs, McGee. As if at any moment we may become Saleem or his men. Lunge, attack.

But now, that fear is gone. She looks confused, yes. Haunted, still.

I wonder, if just maybe, she finally feels safe. With me.

…

_His hands are warm and soft and they surprise me. I am not used to a man's hands being so gentle. _

_I let him touch me._

_Let myself think back to the day I made peace with Tony. I had saved him for last. After Ari, Eli, Gibbs, Abby, McGee. _

_He was the first thing, always, on my mind. What he was doing, who he may have been with. _

_Our past. History. _

_What I should have done differently after Rivkin. What he should have done. _

_All of the times we should have acted upon mountains of desire, sexual tension. But didn't. _

_The guards had taken pity on me that day. Untied me from the chair and let me be free. It did not matter much because I could not stand, could hardly sit up. _

_That is when I knew, that the end was near. _

_And so I lay on my back on the cell floor. It was cool and comfort to my sore body, was a welcome relief from the desert heat. _

_Eyes closed, I pictured his face. Not the one he wore after he shot Rivken, nor the look he gave me in Tel Aviv when I held a gun to his chest. _

_But I saw him as he truly was, the Tony that defined the better parts of our….relationship. _

_Whatever that may have been. _

_They tell you life is too short. Yet you always seem to think that you have more time. _

_I always seemed to think that eventually, Tony and I would find our way to one another. _

_That is one of those regrets that you have to tuck away, forgive yourself for, in the moments before you die. _

_And that I did. Speaking softly, out loud, I made my peace with Tony. _

_And this is what I said. _

…_.._

To be continued! Don't forget to leave a little review if you want to read more. All those who reply get an advance at least 24 hours before the next chapter is posted!


	2. Part 2

Hey guys, if you don't remember the first part of this, the story might be confusing. So, either read it again or remember that Ziva was rescued that day and has just emerged from the shower. She and Tony are in the hallway outside of the bathroom. She's flashing back to when she made peace with Tony while in Somalia, just days ago.

Also, I did the advance on this a few weeks ago and I know a few reviews trickled in after, so apologies for that.

And before we start, a huge thanks to my amazing readers: Aphrael-08, Digidestend Angel, goldiloks, mel60, Diana teo, marshmeg, Angela Beckett, Grande, Betherzz, Cranbs, Ink on Paper, imakemyownluck, Mrs. Fitzgerald, NCISlover96, BamonLove, jsq, thump, Kierstan 3, grace 06, Hiphuggers2, Mogget0607, and arocha!

I love you guys and am here for you! Don't hesitate to ask me to beta or to check out your story

_Previously….._

_They tell you life is too short. Yet you always seem to think that you have more time. _

_I always seemed to think that eventually, Tony and I would find our way to one another. _

_That is one of those regrets that you have to tuck away, forgive yourself for, in the moments before you die. _

_And that I did. Speaking softly, out loud, I made my peace with Tony. _

_And this is what I said. _

….

_My dearest Tony. _

_Do you remember the moment that you first loved me? _

_I do. Remember the moment that I first loved you, that is. _

_It was the moment that living without you flashed before me. _

_The plan had seemed perfect. We sure had fun devising it, did we not? _

_Who could not love a war game? _

_But when I saw that gun collide with your face. You went down. _

_I knew, right then. _

_And that is how I know, now, what you will feel._

_Once you learn that I am gone. _

…..

She was looking at me kind of strange, but in a good way. I think.

It was good, right?

To be honest, I wasn't entirely sure so I evoked rule number two.

Trust your gut.

Moved my hands from her face and down to her shoulders, slowly rubbing up and down her arms.

I watched her watch me. Her eyes speaking fiercely as one thought after another shot through them.

She pulsed, lived, underneath my hands.

For the first time since I saw her – less than 24 hours ago – I was quite certain of something.

Ziva was still alive.

…

_My dearest Tony. _

_Of the 999 times I almost kissed you – in the squad room, on stakeout, the morning coffee run – what if I had acted on just one? _

_Of the 862 times you looked down my shirt, checked out my ass, what if just once, it had not been followed by a joke or sly remark? _

_Of the 100 times you questioned me about Rivkin. What if I had let you in? _

_But these are the choices that we must make. And live with. _

_And so it happened that you were looking out for me. You took Rivkin's life, but I realize now. _

_That it was justified. _

_That for every time I was betrayed – Ari, my father, Rivkin – there were three men who held me tighter. _

_My brother. McGee. _

_My father. Gibbs. _

_You. My lover? _

_I suppose now, I will never know. _

_So tonight, I make peace with what never was. _

_I make peace for leaving the team. _

_For telling Gibbs that I do not trust you. _

_But you, my dearest Tony?_

_Will you be able to make peace? _

_Will you be ok, after I am gone? _

…_.._

She reached a hand to my face, running tiny fingertips over prickly stubble, hours past a five o'clock shadow. Chapped lips still thirsty from the desert.

Her fingernails were shredded and cuticles torn. But I did not care.

I watched the way her eyes flicked over my face. The almost childish way her hands explored me.

"Ziva," My voice came so soft, husky, it startled me. "What are you thinking?"

…..

'_That we almost did not have this," I whispered, breaking from the speech that I had just days ago said to his memory. The words still pulsing on my tongue. _

_He pressed the side of his face into my palm, kissing the thumb that ran over his lips. _

_Pulled me in a step. _

_And I quite simply, forgot. The heaviness of death, lifted from my heart. _

_All I could think was, this is my – _

_This is our – _

_Second chance. _

_He pushed me against the bathroom's doorframe. His weight against mine; this was the moment where we had always turned back. _

_But tonight? _

"_I will not...I will not pretend anymore." _

…

"I'm tired of pretending, too," I answered, cupping my hand over hers.

I couldn't help but think back to the war game. How just after, in the elevator, we had said the same thing.

It was the moment I almost told her that I love her. But that's a story for another time, maybe for the grandkids or Spielberg's next flick.

Tonight, the words again danced on the tip of my tongue. I had said them to her a million times in my head. Even tested them out loud a time or two, alone in the shower or in bed.

Instead, I let the frozen words melt away. Pulled her closer, so that her head was cradled against my chest. I rested my chin on the top of her damp, finally clean hair.

You wonder how it will change a person. Three months of torture, abuse from multiple men.

I know it's changed her. She's damaged and scared. Bruised and recovering.

But she's stripped of her armor, defenses.

And she's finally doing what I couldn't. Even after all these years.

…..

_He took my hand and led me to the living room. We sat, hands clasped. I felt my chest rise and fall with each jagged breath. _

_I searched my head for words…something….to say. We had now crossed the line. Unfamiliar territory more dangerous, unknown than any battlefield, war game. _

"_Where do we go…from here?" I asked him. _

_He was playing with my hair. Wrapping damp strands around a finger. _

_We sat so close. Felt so much more connected, intertwined on a level deeper than ever before. _

_But all of the unspoken obstacles stretched between us. Miles of Rivkin, Rule Number 12. Months of Somalia. _

"_I don't know," He admitted. "But we find out. Together."_

_My lips curled ever so slightly into a smile; it was as much as I could muster, after….Well, after a trying few months. _

"_I mean…tonight." _

_The look that crossed his face was strange, worrisome, but only for a moment. _

_He pulled me, once more into his chest. Stroked my hair, back. Played with my slightly trembling fingers. _

_Minutes past as we sat there, before he finally answered._

"_This. We do this. Tonight."_

…_.._

This was never how I had imagined it.

Yea, ok, so maybe I thought about tiny little Ziva-DiNozzo's running around from time to time.

Maybe I thought about finally getting her into bed.

Maybe I thought about mustering the courage to tell her how I really felt. How many opportunities had I missed?

But I never thought she would be the one to so gently, innocently bring us together.

That when she asked, where do we go from here, that I would be terrified I couldn't hold her up.

That when she asked, where we go, tonight, sex again crossed my mind. And terrified me.

I felt her shiver, ever so slightly, underneath my arms. Muscles tensed.

And then she jumped. So forcefully that her chin butted my shoulder.

It took a moment for the ringing doorbell to register in my brain.

And another moment to understand that it had scared the hell out of her.

I made no effort to move as she crossed her arms and gingerly stepped off my lap.

I wanted to pull her back. But I was terrified to scare her. Again.

And so I watched out of the corner of my eye as I finally rose, opening the door for Gibbs and the awaiting Chinese or pizza.

And I wondered, about that moment Ziva and I had just shared. Wondered if it would become just as lost, forgotten, smothered as I knew those memories would be of…well, what those men in Somalia had done to her.

**A/N: The war game I am referring to here is from the episode Cloak. I also took liberties with the rules **

**And sorry it took me so long. I have been so busy and had some major writer's block. **

**BTW, I'm taking suggestions for stories. Is there something you'd like to see, or a certain episode that you'd like to see explored on a deeper level? Thanks to Grande for a first suggestion!**


	3. Part 3

He had chosen Harry's. It had been – is – one of Ziva's favorite restaurants.

His gray, steel-rimmed eyes met mine as he deposited the packages onto the table, boot knocking over my discarded backpack.

They asked.

I honestly, didn't, have an answer, and my gaze fell from his as he went to find out for himself.

She was still standing there, next to the couch. Arms hanging limply at her side.

Her head was cocked as she watched us at the table, with the same curiosity mixed with confusion that she wore the time I made her watch Dumb and Dumber.

He approached her gently. Kept distance as his eyes assessed.

"You hungry, Ziva?"

I watched as she straightened her head at his words, mouth parted slightly as she took in the packages on the table that I was slowly unwrapping.

"C'mon," He whispered, taking one step toward the table, and then another. Slowly leading her without touch until they were both standing close enough to smell the garlic and spices.

She stood there, for a moment, eyes flicking rapidly between the food, Gibbs and myself.

And my heart broke as I realized she was waiting for permission.

Three months of torture – you wonder how it will change a person.

It is in a moment such as this that you find out.

My limbs froze up and I felt sick, the realization leading to a thousand questions that formed a hard pit in the bottom of my stomach. A half opened carton of hummus slipped through my fingers and I cursed myself as Gibbs did the simplest, and most appropriate thing.

Pulled out a chair for Ziva.

She sat and my hands moved clumsily, quickly, to spoon food onto her plate, throwing a single paper towel over the spilled hummus.

I stole a glance at her, not even noticing that Gibbs placed a restraining hand on my lower arm to stop my furious plating. She was watching me back.

Her curved lips almost formed a small smile, and if this had been the Ziva I had grown to read as effortlessly as Maxim, her face was saying _Relax, Tony. _

But if one thing was clear tonight it was that I was unsure of _everything. _

I don't remember who broke the gaze first, but in a matter of seconds we were both watching Gibbs pull Ziva's plate, piled with hummus and tabouleh and grape leaves, away. In its place, he left one with rice and a piece of pita bread, opening up a container of brothy soup.

She looked up from the food, and then at Gibbs and me.

"Eat, Ziver," he gently ordered.

Her face scrunched and even though her hands were underneath the table, I knew they were clenched.

And I thought she might cry.

…..

_These are the memories that you think you will never make again, in the moments before you die. _

_How many pizzas had we shared? How many times had Tony held the lo mein, while we took turns poking in chopsticks, fighting for the last shrimp?_

_It is only in your last hours of life that you realize how much these moments meant. How the simplicity, the routine, the boundaries that did not exist – how they so perfectly sum the nature of your relationship, more than my words or thoughts ever could. _

_The significance of this moment – sharing yet again another meal with Tony, and Gibbs - oh my god, it hurt. Took away breath and left a hard, fragile lump in the back of my throat._

'_Eat,' Gibbs told me, placing a plate filled with bland food I was not sure I could keep down. 'Start with this.'_

_You learn to deal with the hunger. It becomes a comfort, of sorts. Sometimes I would lay in the cell for hours and listen to my stomach gently growl, feeling each movement as it slowly shrank. _

_When the physical pain was too unbearable that I could not slip away – dreaming of Tony or Christmas dinner with the team – my thoughts became methodical. _

_Sometimes I would run my hands up my stomach, marveling at how concave my belly. Counting each rib and not even wincing when I found a new broken one sticking out. After a solid month it had become normal – finding yet another broken bone or swelling as routine as killing your target with the first bullet. _

_Slightly unsettling, yet just a way of life. _

_Or when it simply hurt too much to move, I would run – over and over – through the steps of processing a crime scene. Fingerprints, photographs, evidence bags. I would dream new crime scenes in my head, or imagine the team in my cell. _

_McGee taking photographs of the ropes that bound my hands. Tony dusting for prints so that Abby could determine how many men had violated me. Ducky bending over a body that I had once filled with life. _

_So do you understand, now, how going from discovering new broken ribs, starvation and making up fantasies of crime scenes and team dinners – to being here, how unsettling it is? _

_There is this feeling – tugging at my chest and shooting through my limbs – that I can not place my finger on. It makes it hard to breathe, move, think. _

_I think that maybe I should eat, even if it does make me sick._

_I am grateful that Tony and Gibbs made their own plates. Had both sat down and started eating, eyes trained on the food. _

_All afternoon, eyes had been focused only on me. As if I was not real. Would be taken away at any moment. _

_And for the first time since leaving Somalia – that finally made for something I could understand. _

_Because I knew that if I closed my eyes, this all would vanish. _

…

I didn't realize how hungry I was until I started stuffing falafel and pita and hummus into my mouth. I used my tongue to wipe at the corners of my lips, taking large bites that I barely chewed.

You could blame the disgusting MREs – god bless our troops for putting up with them – but those who know me would attest to the fact that my normal eating habits aren't too different.

Ziva used to be – is – one of those people. I never thought I'd say this, but I'd give anything for her to roll her eyes and hurl some comment about my revolting eating habits.

But she was no longer looking at me. That look – the one where I thought she might cry – had slowly dissipated from her face, and she was now staring intently at her food. She tore a small, bird sized piece of pita and nibbled on it.

I watched as she took another bite, and then another. Picking up speed, a steady rhythm, yet still chewing slowly, carefully.

When she finished the bread, she picked up her fork, and I watched her fingers shake as she aimed at the rice. The plastic fork slipped through her grip, and even though I knew Gibbs had taken notice and would at any minute rush to make things right, I hurried to place another piece of pita on her plate.

_I've got this. _

I stuck a straw into her water so that she wouldn't have to hold the glass, and it was then that our eyes met and we shared another moment.

_I'm tired of pretending. _

_I never thought I'd see you again. _

_And now, that we have this?_

_Never letting it go. _

I knew that Gibbs wasn't oblivious to this private, unspoken moment – he sees everything – the minute he cleared his throat and spoke.

"Ziver, you still ok to stay at Tony's tonight?"

She blinked once, twice and then spoke. "Yes. Gibbs." She added his name almost as if an afterthought, as if she was testing a beloved word she thought she'd never say again.

He nodded. Looked at me. "Good. You'll stay here for a few days, and we've gotta spot at the Navy Lodge for when you're ready."

He watched her, carefully, as he talked, and I knew he saw exactly what I did.

It was too much. Too soon.

…

_He is talking about tomorrow and the next day and the one after that. Yesterday there was no tomorrow, and now, to have to think, to plan, for a thousand tomorrows?_

_That feeling is swallowing me again, and my chest is tight, it hurts to breathe, and I know that I am visibly shaking. _

_Both men are looking at me, and I suddenly crave the cool, dark, solitude cell in Somalia. _

_My stomach starts to hurt and I place down the piece of pita I just now realized I have been holding._

_I force the words, concentrate on an even tone. "Thank you for dinner, Gibbs."_

_He nods and I count silently in my head, 'One, Two, Three – Dust the body, lift the print, dust the doorknob, lift the print'_

"_Ziva?"_

_My eyes fly open, the numbers and crime scene procedures leaving my head, chest a bit calmer. _

"_I would like….to go…to sleep."_

_Tony jumped up at my words, and it was only after I see the hurt on his face that I realized I have flinched at his movement. _

_He settles a bit. "I'll show you where the guest bedroom is, Zi."_

_I push my chair away and stand up. "I know, where the guest bedroom is, Tony."_

_I knew that he grew warm at my words, and I saw him glance nervously at Gibbs. What I would give to hear Tony nervously chuckle, try to talk himself out of why I knew his apartment so intimately. What I would give to see Gibbs' signature head slap._

_But tonight none of this happens. I offer the men a small smile, and as I turn and walk toward the guest bedroom, I feel their eyes boring holes in my back. _

…_._

Once we hear the door to Ziva's room close, he turns to me.

"Boss, do you think I – uh we – should go check…"

"Relax, DiNozzo."

I can't. "But…"

He places a hand on my shoulder and pushes me back into my seat. "She's in shock and she's hurtin', Tony. She's gonna need time and space, without all us breathin' down 'er neck."

I fiddle with the fork that just moments ago slipped through Ziva's fingers. "It doesn't feel right, leaving her alone now."

"She's been alone for the past three months. Give 'er space while she adjusts."

I grit my teeth. His words are true, I **know **they are, but it's too hard to sit here, to wonder, wait, worry.

He speaks to me again. Honestly? I've never heard Gibbs so gentle.

"Gonna get goin – call if you need anythin.'"

I stand up to walk Gibbs to the door as he continues. "Vance's figurin' out 'er place at the Navy Yard, shrink appointments, place at NCIS. Be by tomorrow with more news."

Suddenly I understand Ziva. This **is **too much, right now. My head spins with trying to figure out a perfect readjustment plan for her, and I am grateful that Vance is seeing to the basic logistics.

"Hey," Gibbs starts as he stands in the open doorway. "I'm proud of you, Tony. Whatcha did over there took a lot of courage, and guts. So don't doubt yourself with her, now."

And as his words ring in my ears – _don't doubt yourself – _I wait until he closes the door and then make my way towards her bedroom.

….

OK, one more part to this left! Wanna see it? Then REVIEW my loves! It's going to be a sweet ending between Tony and Ziva that despite what she's been through, ends on a very high and hopeful note, yet still realistic given the circumstances.

I have also gotten a lot of requests recently to update my very first, yet still unfinished story, Broken Silence. Expect the next chapter soon – hopefully this week!

And lastly, want to learn more about how Ziva knows Tony's apartment so intimately? I have two stories, Spirits and Guy Gets Girl, that are fun depictions of their relationship outside work. Neither were written to go with this story but check them out!


	4. Part 4

Hey guys, here is the final part. I might do an epilogue – haven't decided. Migalouch (thanks!) suggested I do some one-shots to build on to this. I definitely am considering that as well.

Also, the ending of this strongly ties to a lot of the reflection that happened in the first two parts. Make sure you are familiar before reading this final installment!

Grace.06, I loved your reaction, thank you so much for sharing it with me!

Ryalin and jsq, the way you both described this chapter was honestly so moving to me – thank you!

Nemisses, I am also hoping for some more Somalia revisiting this season as well! I doubt it will happen though.

HipHuggers, Betherzz, you are both some of my most faithful readers. You don't know how much this means to me!

Marshmeg, Ink11, Mrs. Fitzgerald, gsr4ever, pamsfhg22, your comments and kind words are so inspiring to me. It reminds me why I am writing and honestly motivated me to post this faster!

Please keep the reviews coming and I'll keep writing as quickly as possible!

…_._

…_._

…_.._

_Everything hurts. That's the first thing I think when my sticky eyes open. I am stiff and sore and have jabbing pain in places that will mar my body forever. _

_I make no effort to move. The pillow is too soft and the sheets too silky and – my eyes fly open. _

_My chest is tightening at the realization that I am not in Saleem's cell – 'One, two, three,' I count in my head. Everything slows. _

_The memories of yesterday come back to me. The rescue, the chopper ride, the hospital. Gibbs. _

_My encounter with Tony in the hallway_

_My cheeks are suddenly wet, and it is only when I place a finger against them and taste the saltiness, do I realize that I am crying. _

_I do not cry because of the pain, or what Saleem did to me. I do not cry because never once, in the cell or at the mercy of Saleem's hands, did I allow a tear to fall. _

_So why do I cry? _

_Because last night, the way Tony touched me, so gentle, so full of love and hope and a thousand tomorrow's, that I simply have to cry. _

_It is then that I hear my name. "Ziva?"_

_I roll over, carefully, to see Tony sitting in a chair next to my bed. He is rubbing his eyes and stretching and I know that he is waking up and wondering why I am crying. _

_I know that he is unsure. The aftermath of Somalia aside, the hallway conversation has forever changed our boundaries. _

_And I know that he is unsure of when to touch and when to come closer. _

_I want him to touch me again. _

_I think the tears have stopped so when he says my name again, "Zi?" I scoot a little bit closer on the bed. "Did you sleep here all night, Tony?"_

_He shrugs. "How are you feeling?"_

_I, in turn, shrug as a response. But he is still looking at me, waiting for an answer I do not really want – or know how – to give. _

_I think, to today, tomorrow, next month and next year, and the familiar crushing of the chest returns. I know that my voice is desperate, shaky. I know that it will place a thousand weights on his shoulders. _

_But I need to know. _

'_What comes next, Tony?"_

_He looks at me for a second – he must have seen some portion of calmness, some part of me that was screaming inside, 'touch me, Tony.' _

_He places his hand over mine. _

_It is at that moment that I calm without a methodical ritual of counting or running through crime scenes. It is at that moment that I know that whatever comes next, I do not have to go through it alone. _

_I watch as he shrugs his shoulders. "Why don't we start with breakfast?"_

_I nod, and place a finger to my lips, tracing the new curves that feel so funny, different on my face, before I realize that I have smiled. _

"_We take the rest, one step at a time, Ziva." _

_I study him for a moment. Something has changed because he is sure and calm and there is something about this moment that is making me feel so light inside._

_I think I could float. _

_I swing my legs over the bed so that my knees are touching Tony's. He is watching me so intently that even though I am clothed, when the silk sheets fall down my body I feel naked, exposed. _

_I want him to see me. _

_So when I raise my arms to stretch I don't hide the wince – I am not sure if my body will ever stop being sore – and I let him see the pain. _

…_.._

I can see the tears that she does not yet know are there as she stirs in the bed, finally waking after a long night of whimpers and thrashing and two screams.

She never woke once, during the night. I had touched her and held her and pulled the covers back up after the particularly bad nightmares. I had whispered into her ear until she grew quiet and still in my arms.

I had backed off the bed and into the stiff chair when I felt her finally, begin to stir.

I want to touch her again so bad my fingertips throb. I want to hold her, look into her eyes, brush away each tear and connect the way we did yesterday in the hallway.

But that moment over dinner, the one where I stood to show the guestroom and she flinched. It stifles my impulses.

I say her name, softly at first and then a bit louder, until she turns and scoots toward me in the bed. The tears are drying but they've done nothing to wash away the shock, the 'dear in headlights' eyes she has been wearing since yesterday.

It is probably an unnecessary question at this point – one that will go unanswered far longer that I would like. Her response to 'How are you feeling,' is a quickening of the breath and then a deflection.

"What comes next, Tony?"

How badly I want to tell her. Where she will go, what she will do, how she will feel. How badly I want to script it out, so perfectly that she merely floats through the next thousand tomorrows, healing, growing, being.

Her breath is still coming fast – her eyes, wide – but I see something in there that was living yesterday in the hallway. I forget that she might be scared of my touch, and I simply, slowly, place my hand over hers.

I feel her fingers move, ever so slightly. Her thumb caresses mine so quickly that if I hadn't been paying attention, I would have missed it.

I think back to the night before, how Gibbs' move of pulling out her chair had been so simple yet the most appropriate response.

I follow suit. "Why don't we start with breakfast?"

I see it, again before she does. The smile that takes hold of her face. And I watch her explore it with her free hand, with the same confusion, and then delight, as a child discovering her fingers, toes.

And I watch as she swings her legs out of the bed. Watch as she raises her arms above her head to stretch.

The hem of her shirt rises, revealing a line of blue and yellow and purple discoloration. I will my thoughts to stay focused on this moment, on Ziva here and now.

And then I forget the darkness – for this moment, anyway, as she delivers a signature Gibbs' head slap.

Three months of torture – you wonder how it will change a person.

It is in a moment such as this that you find out.

Some things, they never change.

…

_He raises his eyebrows at me and winces for show, but the smile on his face tells me that it is ok. That we are ok. _

_"Ow! What was that for, Zee-vah?"_

"_I think Gibbs owed you that from last night. How I know where your guest bedroom is?"_

_Tony grimaced. "I'm hoping he'll let that one go."_

_My fingers trace over the seams of the blanket as I feel Tony shift, his knee digging into mine. "He will. You….you did good, yesterday."_

_I see fingers near my face, and before I realize that it is Tony, that it is ok, I flinch. _

_His hand withdraws quickly, my reaction a hot torch. _

"_Sorry, Zi." He whispers. Uncomfortable. Unsure again. _

"_No, Tony, it is ok."_

_He looks up at me, a question. I refrain from saying 'I am ok,' as we both know that it is not true…yet. So I repeat my words. _

"_It is ok, Tony."_

_And when he raises a hand again to my face, this time, I do not flinch. _

_I let him smooth my hair back and when he cups his palm against my cheek, I lean in and close my eyes. _

_We stay like that for a moment, exploring new boundaries that have been created, expanded, upon my return from Somalia, the moment we both admitted, 'I am tired of pretending.'_

…_.._

I am so caught up that I forget, I reach my hand to her face, too quickly.

She flinches and I think that my chest might explode.

Shame crosses her face and I think that I might cry.

Once, twice, she tells me that it is ok.

I reach out again, and this time she is willing, waiting.

My palm cups her face, smoothes over the swelling around her left eye, the five small nicks that I have counted 50 times since last night.

I feel a soft moan escape her lips, and I shiver as she leans in and closes her eyes and I realize.

Maybe I can take some of this away.

…_._

_I am the first to break away, the knowledge that this closeness, connection, is overwhelming, foreign, and needs to be slow. _

_I can tell that the moment has taken him somewhere, that he is lost in thought. I can tell it is about me, and I shudder when I start to guess whether he's thinking of what Saleem has done to me or how damaged I might be. _

_I stand. "How about that breakfast, Tony?"_

_It takes a minute for him to come back, but he rises too. _

_We stand there for a minute, and I slowly, tentatively reach my hand out to him, half afraid that after his wandering thoughts he might reject such _

_Damaged goods._

_But he takes my hand. "I make some killer pancakes, Zi."_

_I again feel foreign curves on my mouth, and have to remind myself that it is a smile. _

_Tony turns to me, and I can tell that he notices too when he squeezes my hand. _

_I squeeze back as a smile plays on his face, and just like that, so quickly, this moment that has passed between us becomes a memory. One that I tuck away, close to me, to hold on to during the hard nights and days ahead. _

_This moment, this here and now. _

_It tells me that I can, and will, be ok. Eventually. _

_And I squeeze Tony's hand once more as he leads me down the hall and to the kitchen, _

_Where we will once more share another meal, explore the boundaries of our new relationship, and make memories that I will revisit often and not leave_

_Until the moments before we die. _

…

_The end! _


End file.
